


A Matter of Trust

by Pinnithin



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half-Life, Half-Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Blood, Blood Loss, Delirium, Gore, Guns, Illness, M/M, Paranoia, Scene Rewrite, am i tagging everything?, because i have to do everything myself in this fuckin house, canon divergence if you squint really hard, fellas is it gay if your buddy murders a hundred clones for you, finally a tommy/gordon fic without an ounce of benrey, gordon Realizes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25119019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinnithin/pseuds/Pinnithin
Summary: Gordon wasn’t going to make it out here by himself. He had no right arm, no weapons, and no one watching his back. If any aliens saw him, they’d eat him for lunch in seconds. The walls of the tunnel pressed in on all sides as he felt the crushing reality of his situation begin to settle on his shoulders.He was fucked.A narrative depiction of the post-betrayal reunion in Act 3 Part 2. Tommy is the only motherfucker in Black Mesa Gordon can trust and he has Emotions about it.
Relationships: Tommy Coolatta/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 21
Kudos: 280





	A Matter of Trust

The paranoia was making Gordon’s skin crawl, but maybe it was just the sewer water in his suit.

Every day prior had been the worst day of Gordon’s life, but this one? This one left them all miles behind. He was beginning to feel like some vengeful god had cursed him to crawl through the guts of Black Mesa forever, stretching his last thread of sanity further and further as he faced off interdimensional aliens and haywire experiments and whatever the fuck else the facility threw at him.

Now, he could confidently say that the soundness of his mind had finally snapped, hacked off along with his right hand and fed to a trash compactor. Gordon wasn’t sure if he was lucky to wake up alive or not - he was beginning to view oblivion as a comforting relief at this point - but the feral, human instinct to survive kept him moving despite all the bullshit he’d put up with so far. What was the loss of a limb compared to sheer, unparalleled adrenaline crashing through his bloodstream?

He stumbled along the tunnels, nerves alive with fear. Who could he trust now, after everything that just happened to him? It wasn’t like he'd call any of the men he had been traveling with his  _ friends _ , exactly, but you’d think surviving something as batshit insane as the Resonance Cascade together would cement at least  _ some _ level of confidence in one another.

Too bad he’d made the mistake of allying himself with the craziest motherfuckers employed by Black Mesa. Too bad these crazy motherfuckers chopped off his hand and tossed him in the garbage. 

Gordon wasn’t going to make it out here by himself. He had no right arm, no weapons, and no one watching his back. If any aliens saw him, they’d eat him for lunch in seconds. The walls of the tunnel pressed in on all sides as he felt the crushing reality of his situation begin to settle on his shoulders.

He was fucked.

The stump where his hand had been hurt like hell. Every jostle and jolt sent shockwaves of pain radiating up his arm, and he cradled it protectively against his side as he made his way forward step by hopeless step. He had lost a lot of blood, and he found it difficult to plan for what lay ahead in his dizziness. He could see the tunnel emptying out in a few yards and faintly picked up a sour chemical smell, but if there was something in the next room that wanted to kill him, Gordon wasn’t really in a position to stop it.

Laid low by vertigo, Gordon crawled the rest of the way to the tunnel’s opening, hoping to stay out of sight. The rusted metal cylinder yawned out to a room that glowed green and illuminated a solitary figure at its center. Gordon felt his already rabbity pulse quicken when he saw who it was. 

Tommy stood there, tall and ghostly in his lab coat, chin tipped up in Gordon’s direction as if he had been waiting for him. He looked haunted, face shadowed and gaunt, backlit by the eerie glow of the sludge that ringed the room. 

Delirious as he was, Gordon heard himself bark out Tommy’s name against his better judgment. He didn’t know what this man had been posted here to do, what he was capable of, whether he could be trusted. In the moments before Gordon had been sawed apart and knocked out, he remembered hearing Tommy’s voice, shrill with panic, begging his assailants to stop, but… now?

Tommy was impressionable and outnumbered by the rest of the science team. Gordon didn’t want to distrust the only person he didn't outright dislike in this whole facility, but right now his survival depended on it. 

“Are you here to fuckin’ kill me?” Gordon hissed, clutching his arm close to his side.

Tommy looked positively mournful from where he gazed up at him. “No,” he answered. “They tricked me.”

‘They’ undoubtedly meant Bubby and Benrey. Gordon hung an elbow over the lip of the tunnel, examining Tommy with a haggard stare. His fathomless eyes were round and shining with… were those tears? Did those bastards make Tommy cry? “What did they do to you?” he demanded.

The man hesitated and scratched the back of his neck. He at least looked unharmed, but the vacancy in his eyes disturbed Gordon. He needed to get down to his level and out of this grimy pipe. Not that the room Tommy stood in looked much cleaner than his current location, but at least that way he could be face to face with the guy.

He almost blacked out from the effort it took to clamber down to the floor below. He stumbled and pitched forward, and was caught by a surprisingly strong grip on his upper arm. Tommy took Gordon’s weight, fingers digging into him through the suit as if to make sure he was real. It knocked the breath out of Gordon, and he found himself panting as Tommy helped him stand upright, searching his face with concern.

God, he really was crying. Tears slipped silently down the other man’s face, running clear tracks through the grime on his skin. “I ran away,” he explained, looking positively miserable. When he was sure Gordon was steady on his own two feet, he released him, giving him a brief once over. His wide eyes snagged on his gaping wound, finally seeing it for the first time. “Oh my god!” he yelped. “Your hand!”

Gordon was still gritting his teeth in pain from the fall. “I know,” he ground out. “I know.”

“How are you going to write?”

The absurdity of the question choked a laugh out of him. He thought that maybe he answered him, but the pain was fogging up his head, making it difficult to focus on anything outside of the pounding of blood in his own ears. He vaguely registered telling him about Beyblades and medical resources and hazardous waste. Then he realized belatedly that Tommy was guiding him gently by the elbow, insisting they vacated the room.

“Wait.” Gordon snapped back into clarity. “Wait.”

He jerked his arm out of the other man’s grip and winced at the shockwave it sent up to his shoulder. “Can I trust you?” He fixed Tommy with a bloodshot stare, teeth bared against the agony from his stump. “Are we good together?”

Tommy answered him without hesitation. “Yes.”

His face was lined and warweary, his lab coat flecked with blood, but truth shone bright in his eyes. This man had been through nearly everything Gordon had, pushing against an apocalypse where survival meant always moving forward. Yet he was willing to slow up for Gordon’s sake, to guide him through the facility in his handicapped state. 

Gordon had to trust him. Regardless of whether Tommy played a part in his betrayal, which he was beginning to suspect was unlikely, he would surely die in here without him. 

He nodded finally. “Alright. Okay. Is it three against one? Are Bubby and Benrey out there looking for us? What’s - is Dr. Coomer-”

“I don’t know, Mr. Freeman.”

“You know if Dr. Coomer finds us we’re fucked, right? Like, he will kill us both  _ dead _ . And Benrey - I don’t even know what Benrey’s capable of. Maybe Bubby - Maybe we can take on Bubby-”

“I think we can make it out of here,” Tommy said, raising his voice to speak over him. His eyes were spilling over with concern as he regarded him carefully.

Gordon realized he was babbling. He closed his eyes, trying to get his dizziness under control. “You’ve still got your guns, right?” he asked, fixing Tommy with an intense stare.

“Uh, yeah,” Tommy answered, patiently indicating the rifle strap over his shoulder and the pistol at his waist. 

“Okay,” Gordon said. “Okay.”

He could do this. Maybe all wasn’t totally lost. Tommy was a surprisingly excellent shot, so he felt that his chances were significantly better with him on his side. He drew in a breath to steady himself and steeled his nerves for the pain ahead. 

“Let’s go.”

Slowly, Gordon allowed Tommy to lead him through Black Mesa. He was worse than dead weight: he was dead weight in an industrial hellscape, blood loss wrecking his coordination and judgment. He felt drunk in the worst kind of way, and there were many times he had to lean on Tommy for support.

The young scientist was an attentive guide, carefully carving out a path for them as they moved through the world’s worst obstacle course. Gordon could faintly hear his murmured reassurances and patient observations as he stumbled along beside him, incoherently demanding answers. He even thought he laughed a few times at Tommy’s attempts to lighten the mood, but it could have just been the delirium making him hear things.

There were a few horrifying times that he slipped into the toxic waste, and by the time they reached the edge of a pool, his head was spinning. Gordon stared at the swirling brown sludge before them and slanted a half-lidded glance at Tommy.

“This is… raw sewage?” he slurred.

Tommy was supporting most of Gordon’s weight at this point, and Gordon marveled hazily at the ability of someone so rail-thin to carry his heavy ass for this long. The scientist gave the brown water a careful look.

“I think this is clean,” he ventured.

Even in his dizziness, Gordon was skeptical. “That don’t look clean to me.”

Tommy frowned as his gaze passed over their concrete-and-steel surroundings, recognition flickering in his eyes. “Watch out, Mr. Freeman,” he cautioned. “We’re gonna have to swim through something that’s like a Beyblade, but big.”

He’d heard wilder shit come out of the guy’s mouth before, so Gordon just nodded and let himself be deposited in the water. The faster he swam through this nightmare pool, the less likely he was to get sepsis, he guessed. He floated through the cloudy water, trusting Tommy was behind him, and emerged on the other side of the spinning vent in their way.

When he broke the surface, sucking in air, the first thing he noticed was how cold it was in this room. The second thing he noticed was the press of bodies all around him, and the many pairs of eyes pointed in his direction.

Gordon screamed as he found himself surrounded by a seething crowd of men wearing Dr. Coomer’s face. They were all staring at him, grinning identical grins as if Gordon were a delightful surprise, a five dollar bill on the sidewalk, not a half dead man floating in the sewer.

Adrenaline fired off in his bloodstream and Gordon pushed off from the ledge to retreat back into the water, but he felt his body collide with Tommy, who had just surfaced behind him.

“Tommy?” he yelped, hoping the other scientist would offer any kind of reassurance. 

Tommy just hauled himself out of the water and unslung his rifle from his shoulder, giving Gordon a complicated look before setting his jaw and aiming the barrel at the nearest clone.

“Do- Doctor-”

Gordon didn’t get the word out before the clones were upon them. Knobby knuckles and long fingernails reached for Gordon while he thrashed in the water, the old man’s congenial greeting of “Hello, Gordon!” battering his ears. He was helpless to stop them from hauling him out of the water, strong boxer’s fists gripping tight on his HEV suit. Gordon’s heart was galloping with fear, staring down dozens of mustachioed mouths repeating his name over and over.

“Tommy!” he called out desperately as the ring of Coomers tightened around him. He could barely see anything in a sea of white lab coats and his arm was screaming with pain as the clones jockeyed around him.

Dr. Coomer’s voice thundered in his head, cleaving it in two. Gordon’s vision went fuzzy as the old man bore down on him with grandiose proclamations of the void outside Black Mesa, of the world within his dreams. This was nuts. This wasn’t happening. Gordon was fucking losing it, and this was the breakdown that would do him in. He could barely see, barely think through the pain. He thought that maybe he cried out for Tommy again, but at this point his brain was so scrambled he wasn’t even sure Tommy was actually there anymore.

Gunfire popped around him and he felt a solid hand shove him towards a staircase. Instinct made him climb it and he ran, too fearful to look back.

The next few minutes passed in a hurricane of screaming voices and pounding feet and gunshot after gunshot after gunshot. Gordon ran blindly over the catwalk and through the halls, ducking back into the water, splashing through tunnels while the clones pursued him. Dr. Coomer was screaming inside his head and Gordon briefly wondered if he was already dead and this was his hell. He flailed through another pool, nearly gulping in a lungful of sewer water, and found himself surfacing back where it started.

It was finally, astonishingly quiet. Gordon weakly clawed at the lip of the pool, coughing and spluttering. Then he felt a pair of hands pulling him out of the water, and he struggled feebly against whatever clone had finally grabbed him.

But it was only Tommy, who lowered Gordon gently onto the slatted steel. He knelt beside him, steadying him with one hand, firmly patting his back until he stopped retching. Once he had made sure Gordon wasn’t going to black out on him, the scientist stood and began to make rounds of the room.

It was only when Gordon lifted his head to watch Tommy that he noticed the bodies littering the floor. Dozens of identical Dr. Coomers sprawled, bleeding, on the ground, riddled with holes. Tommy paused at each corpse, firing a round into each of their skulls. His face was drawn and pained.

“T-Tommy,” Gordon started as his sluggish brain caught up with reality. “What-”

“I killed them all,” Tommy answered. He raised his gaze from his task to stare at Gordon with that haunted look. 

“All of them?” Gordon asked, volume climbing. “What about the real one?”

Tommy just went back to filling Coomer skulls with lead. Nausea climbed up Gordon’s throat and he ducked his head to vomit again. This was insane. He was going insane. And if he wasn’t, well, this was definitely the worst day of his life. He wiped his mouth and began launching questions at Tommy, driveling words out until he felt somewhat grounded, not even fully registering what he was asking or what Tommy’s answers were. He sank to the floor, tucking his stump of an arm in close, staring hazily into the distance as the adrenaline leaving his body rendered him boneless.

Tommy finished checking the corpses and approached Gordon, who could do little but stare in disorientation up at him. “Tommy,” he pleaded, though he wasn’t sure exactly what he needed from him. He was shivering violently. “Tommy, talk to me.”

The scientist crouched down in front of him. He was spattered with gore, his lab coat stained crimson. He looked tired and scared and a little sad.

The realization of what this man had just done for him hit Gordon in the chest like a freight train. Tommy had killed every last clone, singlehandedly, for him. Not just any clones, either. Clones of one of the most powerful men at Black Mesa. He could have died - no, he  _ should _ have died - facing those odds. And Gordon should have died with him.

He frantically passed his gaze over his protector, searching for any sign of injury, but aside from looking a little rattled, Tommy seemed impossibly, miraculously unharmed.

“Um,” his companion began, awkwardly. “Do you want a soda?”

Gordon sank further onto the floor until his forehead touched cold metal. He felt indistinguishable from one of the bodies that littered the room. This brave, foolish man had hauled his useless ass for miles through Black Mesa and laid waste to countless clones. And here he was, offering Gordon a soda. Gordon didn’t deserve jack shit from Tommy. Tommy could have been killed because of him.

“Guh, I’ve lost a lot of blood,” he groaned. 

He had to find out what was happening. He had to keep asking questions. The uncertainty was going to eat him alive. Gordon could sense his own lips moving, could feel the rough press of his voice through his raw throat, but the words that gasped out were meaningless as they passed through the fog of his brain. He couldn’t stop shuddering.

The only thing that broke through the haze was Tommy delicately propping Gordon into a sitting position and gathering him close. Gordon was too weak to protest, his head falling limply against the other man’s shoulder.

“Did you kill him? Did you kill him? Tommy? The one that was different?”

He was a lunatic. He was losing it. There was blood everywhere and the scent of iron was thick. Tommy encircled Gordon in his arms, hugging him tight against him as he shook uncontrollably.

“They were identical. They were clones, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy said carefully, voice close in his ear. “That’s… the definition.”

Before Gordon could open his mouth to protest, he felt light fingers in his hair, combing through locks that were wet with blood and sewer water. It was positively disgusting - they both were, slick with gore and shit and the fear-sweat of days on the run. But Tommy repeated the motion over and over until Gordon’s questions died off and his heart rate slowed to a weak flutter.  _ Calm down _ , he seemed to be saying.  _ It’s alright _ .

It was the first taste of comfort he’d had in days. Years, actually, if he was really thinking about it. He sagged bodily against Tommy.

“I’m gonna die out here,” he said weakly.

“No,” the scientist murmured against his temple, “I don’t think so.”

Gordon was a shivering cloud of vapor and Tommy was warm and solid and he wanted to believe him so, so badly. His eyes fluttered shut as his shaking subsided, and he could feel himself beginning to drift.

“We should probably keep moving,” Tommy said, pulling him out of his stupor. He disentangled himself from Gordon and stood, offering a hand.

Gordon stared at it. Tommy was right. He needed medical attention. He needed to live. Where bleak despair once gripped his heart, there was now desperate, clawing hope. Gordon Freeman was going to make it out of here. Tommy didn’t lay waste to all those clones for his stupid ass to die on him.

He gripped the man’s hand and let himself be hauled to his feet, once again surprised at the strength of someone so slight. His legs shook and the warehouse tilted around him, but Tommy caught him before he could collapse.

Gordon’s addled brain was running laps around him. Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, slowing up for him, risking his life for him, carrying him through hell. Tommy slung Gordon’s good arm over his shoulder and led him up the stairs while Gordon bore the pain and the tidal wave of emotion crashing through him.

The first med station they encountered was empty, which sent Gordon into a hysterical, babbling episode that Tommy helpfully ignored. They pushed onward, stepping around bodies as they went. Gordon trusted Tommy to lead him, not even bothering to question how he knew where they were going. His mind was beginning to put reality back together piece by piece, using Tommy as his anchor. As they made their way unsteadily along, Gordon was actually beginning to feel a little more normal.

That is, until a corpse sprang to its feet right in front of his eyes.

“Surprise attack, Gordon!” Dr. Coomer’s voice rang cheerily, reverberating up and down the halls and into his disbelieving skull.

Bloodstained, teeth bared, eyes feral and hungry, the old man advanced on them. Animalistic prey instinct seized Gordon and he ripped away from Tommy’s side, hurtling down the hall while gunfire cracked in his wake. 

Here he was, running again, useless, a coward, fleeing the impossible. Gordon stumbled and found himself crashing into the water, and as he drifted down, he thought,  _ maybe this is it _ . Maybe Coomer was the end of the line. Maybe he should kill himself before the old man could take him apart piece by piece.

But he was too weak to swim toward the industrial vent and the current washed him back to the water’s edge. It was death, spitting Gordon back out, refusing to accept him, saying,  _ take this, I don’t want this _ , to an awaiting Tommy.

Tommy. Tommy! “Tommy!” Gordon yelled.

“Mister Freeman, where are you?” came the man’s distant reply. He sounded scared, but his tone was significantly calmer than Gordon’s racing thoughts.

He struggled at the edge of the pool he was in, trying desperately to reach him. “Tommy!” he cried. It was the only word left in his vocabulary that made any sense.

He felt himself being lifted once again out of the water as his unfiltered thoughts poured unbidden out of his mouth. “You gotta kill him, Tommy,” he heaved, “You can’t let him win, he can’t keep getting away with this.”

Tommy didn’t answer him as he hauled Gordon down the hallway. Gordon woozily went with him, dripping water and blood in his wake, until they came upon a body slumped against the wall with a neat bullet hole in its chest.

Gordon blinked. “Did you kill him?”

“Yes,” Tommy answered, but whatever he was about to say next was cut off by a loud, booming voice that almost shattered his eardrums. 

Gordon’s knees buckled as Dr. Coomer broke open his mind.

_ GORDON… EVERY TIME YOU GO TO SLEEP, I CAN FEEL MY BODY TORN APART ATOM BY ATOM… IT’S AGONIZING, GORDON… I’VE SEEN OUTSIDE BLACK MESA, GORDON… THERE’S NOTHING… BUT I KNOW YOU… THERE’S A WORLD OUTSIDE HERE, GORDON… AND I NEED YOU TO TAKE ME THERE… _

As quickly as the voice arrived, it evaporated, along with Dr. Coomer’s body. Gordon collapsed, hysterical giggling pouring out of him as his broken brain tried to reconcile what just happened to it. He laughed like a maniac while Tommy looked down at him with concern.

“We’re fucked,” he giggled shrilly. “We’re fucked. Is this even-” he was limp and yielding as Tommy pulled him to his feet yet again. “Is this even real?”

Tommy was silent, staring at the place the doctor had been, finger still taut on the trigger of his pistol while he supported Gordon. He needed him to say something, needed any shred of reassurance he could offer. “Tommy,” he pleaded, “Do you have  _ any _ words of wisdom? From your  _ books _ , or your-” A sob choked out of him, tripping and stumbling over his own laughter. “Help,” he cried pitifully.

The man pulled Gordon tight against him, letting him ride out his hysterics in the embrace while he kept a watchful eye on their surroundings. Gordon hiccupped into his shoulder, terror racing like a livewire through his spine. Tommy just held him close without judgement, running a hand up and down his back until he caught his breath.

He was just about to pull away when Tommy suddenly shoved Gordon behind him, pointing his firearm down the hall as a figure rounded the corner.

“Hello, Gordon!” hit him like a gunshot, but maybe his ears were just ringing from the round Tommy fired in Dr. Coomer’s head.

Tommy backed up, an arm flung out protectively in front of Gordon, as the old man stepped toward them. Blood was gushing from the wound in his face, but he was smiling as if he couldn’t even feel it. Gordon was sure his heart was going to give out from how hard it was hammering in his ribcage.

The three of them stood like that, staring each other down, while Tommy kept his pistol trained on Dr. Coomer. The old boxer spoke congenially to him, but Gordon barely registered his words. His fuzzy brain was thinking about the human shield in front of him, how quickly Tommy had placed himself between Gordon and the threat. He knotted a desperate hand in the fabric of his lab coat, unable to do anything but cling to him.

“How can I trust you?” he called out to Coomer, panic making his voice shrill. 

“I think this one is safe,” Tommy commented, flicking Gordon a reassuring glance. “I shot him and he didn’t die.”

“That is kind of like the Coomer we know and love,” Gordon answered, managing to find an ounce of sarcasm in himself. He fixed his bloodshot stare on their assailant. “Prove it to me.”

The old scientist grinned as blood soaked slowly into his uniform. “Gordon, I’m thirsty,” he declared. 

The fight went out of Gordon all at once, his legs turning to jelly as Dr. Coomer strode cheerily past him to examine the bloodbath in the other room. Gordon lurched after him, Tommy close behind.

He would have to trust this guy, whether he wanted to or not. He couldn’t let Tommy keep carrying his weight alone, no matter how willing he was to put himself in harm’s way for Gordon. He tried to explain as much to Dr. Coomer, raising his voice to what he hoped was an authoritative volume. Coomer nodded along, unfazed as the blood clotted and dried on his face. A wave of dizziness passed over Gordon and he felt himself sinking.

“Perhaps you should have a seat,” Dr. Coomer advised.

“Uh huh,” he slurred, stumbling backward into Tommy, who caught him with careful hands. Those careful hands guided him, gentle as ever, to the cold steel beneath his feet.

Across from him, Dr. Coomer was sitting down, too, smiling faintly as he passed an interested look between him and Tommy. Gordon no longer had any energy to resist the old man’s eerie presence, but as Tommy settled onto the floor beside him, he wrapped a protective arm around him and fixed Coomer with a threatening stare.  _ Don’t you dare touch him _ , the man’s intense amber gaze burned.  _ I’ll kill you again if I have to. _

Blood loss and affection made him feel lightheaded. This whole fucking day was a neverending loop of Gordon shattering apart and Tommy putting the pieces back together. He wasn’t sure he deserved the hellscape he was being forced to travel through, but he was certain he didn’t deserve Tommy. He didn’t deserve the warm, solid hand at his back. He didn’t deserve the blood that was spilled to keep his pathetic ass alive.

They talked over everything that happened, slowly exchanging information and piecing together a plan. Gordon sagged against Tommy, contributing to the conversation but barely tacking together what he was saying. He was thinking ahead to the impossible future, what he was going to do once he got out, once he strangled Benrey with Dr. Coomer’s help.

How could he possibly repay Tommy for what he had done? What did someone like Tommy want? What did someone like Gordon have to give?

This moment couldn’t last forever. They had to keep moving soon, to plunge into the unknown and follow that pinpoint of hope that was always just too far away. But as Gordon slumped there, awash in the yellow glow of the industrial lights, he thought that maybe he could reach it. He let his head fall against his companion’s shoulder, breathing ragged and thin. Gordon would see the sun again one day, and when he did, he would draw its warm rays down just for Tommy. 

And maybe he’d take him out. Buy him a soda. He’d probably like that. 

**Author's Note:**

> *standing at the ao3 counter* can I get a tommy/gordon fic without benrey? can I PLEASE get a-
> 
> This is dedicated to Cosma who grabbed me by the ankle and dragged me into this fandom. This scene plays in my head constantly, I think I've watched it like 30 times now. Honestly, if I had been betrayed and maimed by everyone I knew and suddenly a handsome scientist faced off with dozens of deranged clones to keep me alive I'd fall in love with him, too. Fuck Benrey rights this is a Tommy/Gordon house ONLY.
> 
> I took some liberty with the dialogue to make this flow smoother but otherwise its pretty beat-by-beat with the actual scene. We don't know for sure if they were cuddling down there. There's only so much the game models can show ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
